


Get Back On Your Feet

by AEpixie7



Series: Take You Down With Me [3]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: And then more fluff after, Fallen!Aziraphale, For once I'm actually adding fluff to my porn, It's like a smut fluff sandwich, M/M, Part 3 of my OneShot LOL, Sexual Fantasy, Smut, but first fluff, fantasies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-20
Updated: 2019-04-20
Packaged: 2020-01-20 17:06:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18529396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AEpixie7/pseuds/AEpixie7
Summary: Aziraphale has made Crowley's fantasy come true... now he wants to return the favor.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay chaps, I swear I'm wrapping this story up now. Like I'm 89 percent sure I'm done with it lol. (For this part, it probably is necessary that you read Part 2 to understand. But you'll enjoy it, I promise).

“Where to, angel?” Crowley asked, reaching over to take Aziraphale’s hand in his and kissing his knuckles lovingly. Aziraphale smiled- the gesture having lost none of its brilliance since his fall. 

“Actually I think… I should rather like to go home. To the shop, I mean. Haven’t been back since…” his voice trailed off and his smile faded, as he looked down at his own hand in Crowley's. As if it weren’t his anymore. 

“Left in a hurry, is all,” he mumbled quietly, his voice weak. 

“Of course. Whatever you want. You sure… you’re ok to go back? I know you…” Crowley swallowed hard, attempting to be diplomatic with his words. Never his strong suit. “Spent a lot of time there. As an angel.” 

Aziraphale pondered Crowley’s statement for a while, frowning as he did so. 

“Yes, I was a rare book dealing angel. I suppose there's nothing stopping me from being a rare book dealing demon,” he said with a wry smile, though Crowley could tell he was trying desperately to hide his true feelings on the matter. Aziraphale was thousands of years older than his bookshop. But that place had been so important to him, it felt as if it had been a part of who he was for far longer than the brick and mortar had actually been standing. 

“It will make scaring off customers a Hell of a lot easier, won’t it?” Crowley said, and Aziraphale finally laughed. A genuine laugh that warmed Crowley’s serpentine blood. 

“That it will, my dear. That it will.” 

“Alright, angel. If you’re sure.” 

Crowley held Aziraphale’s hand the entire drive back to the bookshop. He wasn’t surprised when his grip tightened as they rounded the corner, the bookshop sneaking into view. When Crowley thrust the Bentley into park, Aziraphale huffed a heavy sigh, before reluctantly pulling his hand away and climbing from the car. He waved a hand nonchalantly toward the door, and when he tried the doorknob, it refused. He rested his forehead against the door, his shoulders sinking in defeat. 

“It doesn’t recognize me. I’ve only ever allowed one demon entry…” 

Crowley rested a hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder, his other hand carefully pulling Aziraphale's away from the doorknob. “May I?” he asked, as gently as possible. 

Aziraphale nodded, but seemed perplexed when Crowley didn’t bother reaching for the handle. Crowley grinned, his hand squeezing Aziraphale’s wrist. “I have some experience threatening inanimate objects,” he said with a hopeful smile, and Aziraphale rolled his eyes, though he couldn’t help his amused grin. 

“Alright you listen here,” Crowley said, bending down and thrusting a finger at the doorknob. “Aziraphale might not be an angel anymore, but that doesn’t mean he loves you any less. He looked out for you. For your entire existence. And maybe you didn’t appreciate it then but you bloody will now. Because we're all he's got. You and me. And we're gonna make damn sure that we're there for him as much as he's been there for us. Got it?” 

Crowley straightened, yanking the bottom of his jacket and smoothing out the lapels, before smiling triumphantly at Aziraphale and gesturing for him to try the door. 

“Thank you, my dear. But I’m not really sure angelically miracled locks have anything in common with houseplants…” 

Aziraphale's words trailed off as he tried the door… and it acquiesced. His jaw dropped as he released the door, allowing it to swing freely into the darkened bookshop, before he looked to Crowley with a shocked half-smile. 

“I’m sure they don't. I guess it just doesn’t want to find out what’s on the other end of my threats,” Crowley said, raising his eyebrows and smiling devilishly as he sauntered inside. 

Aziraphale stepped inside, and took in the smell of old books and rustic wooden shelves. He had expected the shop to feel different, somehow. But as he walked up behind Crowley and wrapped his arms around him, the shop felt exactly as it always had. _His._

Crowley stretched in his arms, his sinuous body almost going slack as he yawned. “Angel… you mind if I sleep for a bit? You uh… you wore me out back there,” he said, and Aziraphale chuckled into his ear, before nipping gently at the sensitive skin of his neck. “Of course my dear. I plan on wearing you out quite a bit more. You're going to need your rest,” he whispered, licking over his own bite mark. Crowley shivered, his hands coming to rest over Aziraphale's wrists. He urged his lover's hands lower, and Aziraphale complied, only so far before his hands stopped at Crowley's lightly protruding hip bones. 

“Promise?” Crowley breathed heavily, his head rolling back onto Aziraphale's shoulder. 

“I swear to Satan… I’ll never let my touch fade from your skin before I venture to touch you again. My serpent. My dear.” 

Crowley growled, pulling himself out of Aziraphale’s grasp so he could turn to face him. “Well now I don’t feel much like sleeping,” he uttered, his voice low and rough, his snakelike tongue flicking almost imperceptibly at his lips as his eyes flashed with excitement. 

“Later, my dear. You can sleep for a while. I must say I've… always wanted you to sleep here. Not passed out drunk on the sofa or curled in my chair in front of the fire. Properly. In my bed.” 

“You have a bed?” 

“Of course.” 

“Why?” 

“In case you ever wanted to sleep in it.” 

Crowley blushed sunset red and bit his lip, and the sight was so darling that Aziraphale couldn’t help but to close the distance between them, pressing his lips against Crowley’s. He could feel Crowley smiling against the kiss, and he smiled with him. Who knew he had to first fall from Heaven before he could feel this euphoric? 

“Come with me,” he whispered, taking Crowley’s hand and leading him upstairs. Crowley had seen every inch of the bookshop's private rooms upstairs, save one. Aziraphale lead him into his bedroom, which was small, but cozy. The duvet on the bed was a cream white color, and the pillows looked plush and inviting. 

“Seriously? You have this entire room made specifically for sleeping and you just… never use it?” 

“I tried, really I did. I wanted to know what you could possibly find so appealing about it and I just never really enjoyed it.” 

“Perhaps it's cuz you were sleeping alone?” Crowley suggested, his hand coursing through Aziraphale's hair tenderly. 

“Would you like it if I held you? While you sleep?” 

“Would I _like it?_ ” Crowley choked. He looked near the verge of tears. “Angel I've dreamt about that. What it would feel like to fall asleep in your arms.” 

Aziraphale smiled, his hands finding Crowley's sides. “Very well, then. Make yourself comfortable,” he said, turning to begin fussing with his bowtie. He hung his tie, coat, and vest in the closet, before he began working the buttons at his wrists. “What, er, manner of dress do you usually...” he began to ask, but stopped when he turned and received his answer. 

“Exactly as God made me,” Crowley said, standing stark, gloriously naked by the bed. Aziraphale cursed his cheeks for blushing. He'd been _inside_ Crowley, why did the very sight of him naked still send heat to his cheeks and his heart pounding? 

“I think someone else had a hand in your corporation’s physicality. Otherwise why are you so tempting?” 

Crowley chuckled, before pulling back the bed covers and slithering beneath them, his eyebrows raised expectantly. Aziraphale hesitated, unsure of whether he wanted to strip down in front of Crowley. The previous instances of his nakedness had been in a rush of passion. There was something entirely different about taking his clothes off with Crowley watching him so intently. 

“Angel, don’t be so nervous. You wear whatever makes you comfortable. I just want you. Here with me,” Crowley said, and Aziraphale got the distinct impression that Crowley was equally as nervous about the situation as he was. That was somehow comforting. 

He finished unbuttoning his cufflinks, then removed his shirt, shoes, and trousers. He decided to leave his underwear on, and crawled stiffly under the covers, leaving a large space between himself and Crowley. He sighed, avoiding Crowley’s eyes. “How do you, er, I mean, what position is…” he realized he was rambling and surrendered, still fidgeting under Crowley’s scrutiny. Crowley smiled at him, before he scooted closer, grabbing Aziraphale's wrist and draping it over his abdomen as he turned, shuffling himself until Aziraphale was tucked closely behind him. Crowley sighed contentedly, before glancing over his shoulder. “Is this… alright, angel?” 

Aziraphale tucked his knees closer against the back of Crowley’s legs, very much enjoying his superior position. It felt… like he was Crowley’s protector. Like he was cradling him away from everyone and everything. 

“Yes, my dear, this is… rather lovely,” he said, placing a gentle kiss between Crowley's shoulder blades. Crowley moaned happily, tucking his head further into the plush pillows, his breaths coming slower and longer until Aziraphale glanced up to find him sleeping. He kissed his shoulder and watched him sleep, so beautiful and peaceful. He wondered if this was what Crowley looked like as an angel. 

“Heaven didn’t deserve us,” he whispered. 

*** 

“Would you like some tea, my dear?” Aziraphale asked, watching Crowley stretch comfortably at the dining table, his bathrobe falling open a bit and revealing his sharp collarbones and sparse chest hair. 

“Yeah, sounds good, angel,” he mumbled, still rubbing his sleepy eyes. He had slept through the night, and Aziraphale had stayed- holding him, running his fingertips over his skin, through his hair. He himself had even dozed off a few times, though he didn’t remember dreaming. The feeling upon waking was groggy but not entirely unpleasant. Especially when Crowley was so warm and perfect in his arms. 

He set down Crowley’s cup of tea in front of him and kissed his hair before he took his seat across the table, gently blowing on his own steaming cup of tea. He glanced up to see Crowley ignoring his beverage, his eyes fixed on his lover and a smile on his lips. 

“What?” 

“Nothing.” 

“Why are you smiling like that?” 

“Cuz ‘m happy.” 

“Well it's creepy.” 

“My being happy is creepy?” 

“No, that smile. It always looks like you're up to something.” 

“Who says I'm not?” 

“My dear are you going to be like this _forever?_ ” 

Crowley chuckled but didn’t respond. He sipped his tea, as did Aziraphale. Aziraphale pondered the last day's events, his smile slowly fading. 

"My dear… how long have you… thought of me in this way?" 

“What way?” 

“As someone who you… could find yourself… being intimate with?” 

Crowley chewed his lip, and took another sip of tea. His eyes seemed lost somewhere. "Rather not say." 

"I thought you said we shouldn't make each other a source of guilt and pain?" Aziraphale prodded, and Crowley fidgeted. Aziraphale was starting to realize just how many micro expressions he'd missed over the years, now that Crowley had taken to leaving his eyes unmasked. He had never miracled another pair of glasses since his got lost in the fight at the pub, and there was so much his eyes said when his voice couldn’t. 

Crowley sighed, glancing back up at Aziraphale and mulling over his options. He clearly didn’t want to share, but he also didn’t want to deny his angel anything. 

"You remember that bath in Greece?" 

"Yes..." 

"You remember that time... I got discorporated. And Hell didn't allow me a body for... a few years." 

"As I recall you showed up on my doorstep and... you looked an absolute fright." 

"I don't even remember doing that. Honestly, I was so out of it from… being in Hell for so long. But you... took me to the bath. You washed my hair and you held me. You told me I was safe, and that you wouldn't let anything happen to me. Ever since then... it's only ever been you." 

Aziraphale seemed to think this over, a strange hollowness hanging in his chest. He thought through all those years, millennia even, before an almost imperceptible grin tugged at the corners of his mouth when he reached the 1970s. 

"Oh that can't be true... Freddie Mercury?" 

Crowley's mouth hung open as if he might respond, before closing again. 

"Oscar Wilde," he blurted, as one who clumsily moves a chess piece without thinking through the consequences. Aziraphale didn’t look nearly as offended as he'd expected him to. 

"I never slept with Oscar." 

"I never loved Freddie." 

They were quiet for a while, both smilingly recalling memories that the other was certainly not privy to. 

"But you thought about it," Crowley said quietly, and Aziraphale outright smiled as he stared down at his drink. 

"Well... there was nothing in the rules that said I couldn't... take a glimpse into his lovers' subconscious. You know, during..." 

"Brilliant. _Bloody_ brilliant. I knew you weren't as innocent as you let on." 

Aziraphale smiled wider, his eyes sparkling as he soaked in the sight of his lover, so very different from the only other person who had ever made him consider wandering from his Holy path. Crowley wasn’t refined, gentle, or particularly well-spoken. He was wild and carnal and brash. Perhaps Oscar had been what Aziraphale thought he wanted. But he was never what he needed. 

"So... you've felt this way... since ancient Greece?" Aziraphale asked, and Crowley flinched. 

"Yeah." 

"Oh my dear I'm sorry,” Aziraphale muttered, his heart aching at the thought. How could Crowley have been silent for thousands of years, when he'd felt this way all along? 

"Don't be. I was glad to have you as a friend, even if that's all I ever got." 

"But my dear that sounds like torture." 

"It was. But... you know... I kinda like torture... so long as you're the one doing it,” Crowley said with a mischievous grin, and Aziraphale offhandedly wondered if the mark he'd left on Crowley’s ass was still there this morning. 

“Speaking of which…” Crowley said, sliding his tea cup and saucer to the side and leaning intently on his elbows. 

"You've given me my wildest fantasy. To be fucked in the Bentley. The fact that you… _dominated_ me was… the cherry on top," Crowley seemed to shiver at the very recollection of it. 

"So tell me... what's yours? What's your fantasy?" 

"Well I... don't have any," Aziraphale blushed. 

"Bullshit. Angel, you came to me when you were falling, and you knew _exactly_ what you wanted. Don't tell me you just... thought of all that on your way up the stairs." 

"My dear I am... _was_ an angel, we're not supposed to have fantasies." 

"Not _supposed_ to... but you did... didn't you?" 

Aziraphale smiled at how astute Crowley could be. Perhaps he really was as clever as Wilde. 

"Well... if I were to have a fantasy, and I'm not confirming that I did...” Aziraphale watched Crowley’s smile widen as his eyes lit up, and he decided he didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of being right. He stood, carrying his tea cup and saucer and placing them by the kitchen sink, before turning and leaning back against the counter. 

“I suppose I'd imagined us here. In the shop.” 

“ _Us?_ You had fantasies about… _me?_ ” Crowley asked, and it hurt Aziraphale that he sounded so surprised. He must have done a better job than he thought at hiding his adoration for Crowley. He banished the guilt that bubbled up from that. 

“No, I said if I _were_ to have had a fantasy, and again I’m not saying I did...” 

“But you're also not saying you didn’t.” 

“Do you want to hear it or not?” Aziraphale teased, and Crowley kept his mouth shut, motioning for Aziraphale to continue. 

“There's a fire going,” he said, starting to set the scene but stopping as Crowley slowly stood, eyes predatory, and the fireplace near Aziraphale’s desk burst into flames. Aziraphale swallowed hard, watching as Crowley rounded the dining table and approached cautiously, like a hunter. 

“Maybe we have a few drinks, though I suppose tea works as well,” he said, eyes flickering to Crowley’s abandoned tea on the table. 

“It’d get a bit warm and I'd... watch you take your coat off. And when you make yourself comfortable... my dear, the way you take your clothes off, I don't even think you know you're doing it. Like a serpent, I'd suspect. Every layer shed reveals… more… beauty beneath…” 

Aziraphale was starting to stumble over his words, his breaths coming quicker as Crowley creeped nearer, his marvelously slender hands working the tie to his bathrobe and loosening it around his waist. No, he wasn’t wearing his usual attire- what Aziraphale pictured in his fantasy (which he had indeed been entertaining for years, though he'd never admit that to Crowley), but the way the fabric of his robe clung delicately over his body, like the drape over a masterpiece yet to be revealed in a museum… yes, it would do nicely. 

“You'd take off your clothes and…” Aziraphale slipped away as Crowley approached, allowing his bathrobe to fall sensuously to the ground. Aziraphale couldn’t figure out where he should be looking- his eyes, his chest, those chiseled hip bones and lightly muscled thighs… his cock, already bobbing with interest and shining at the tip. All of him was so beautiful he just couldn’t concentrate on any one part of him. 

Aziraphale continued his retreat, allowing Crowley to follow him, their eyes locked as Aziraphale backed toward his desk near the fire, stopping only when he bumped into it. Crowley came to a halt in front of him, so close but so maddeningly far. 

“But… as much as I’d have been dying to see your body, I… just wanted to see your eyes, naked as they are. I'd catch the fire light in those eyes and... well my dear I should think I'd swipe everything off my desk and have you. Right here." 

Crowley's chest was rising and falling quickly, and just like in his fantasy, the flames danced along the golden ripples of his eyes, the vertical pupils dilated with lust as he stared him down hungrily. Crowley was trembling quietly, though it didn’t appear to be from a chill. 

“How do you want me, angel?” he whispered huskily, and Aziraphale turned, pushing stacks of books and papers roughly to the floor. When he turned back, he attacked Crowley's lips, spinning him and pressing him back against the desk, until he perched his butt up on the ledge. Aziraphale pulled his lips away, putting them to use along Crowley's jaw, down his neck and along his collarbone, leaning into him and urging him back until he was laying back on the desk. Aziraphale kissed down his chest, along the thin trail of hair beneath his belly button, eventually pressing his lips softly to Crowley's pleading cock head. Crowley's back arched and he cried out, his hands gripping the edge of the desk on either side of him. 

“Azssssss… angel… I th… thought thissss was supposed to be _your_ fantasy? Why am I the one that _fuck!_ ” Crowley practically screamed as Aziraphale licked slowly from the base of his shaft, encircling his head and then lingering to tease at the slit. 

Aziraphale sank to his knees, pulling Crowley's legs over his shoulders and nipping at the inside of his thigh, making him twitch and whine. 

“Crowley… this _is_ my fantasy…” Aziraphale whispered, kissing and nibbling his way up Crowley's thigh before wrapping both hands around his legs and pressing his lips and tongue to Crowley's puckered entrance. He had never done this before, but he very much enjoyed the little noises Crowley made as he tried to decipher what he liked. He curled and twisted his tongue, occasionally sucking at the sensitive skin with his lips. Crowley's thighs trembled on either side of his neck, one of his hands entangling in Aziraphale's hair encouragingly. “Oh _Christ_ angel,” he moaned breathlessly, and Aziraphale caught the movement in his periphery as Crowley ventured his other hand and began stroking himself, his hips jerking as his entire body began to shake. Aziraphale was hopelessly aroused by Crowley's constant pleas for more, and found himself desperately _needing_ to be inside him. 

He pulled himself away and stood, Crowley whining from the sudden absence. Aziraphale miracled his own clothing away and was about to pounce, but Crowley stopped him. 

“Wait,” Crowley gasped, his hand still slowly working his cock as he propped himself up on one elbow. “Angel I want you to touch yourself.” 

Aziraphale flushed, fidgeting nervously. “Really, my dear?” 

“Yeah. I want you to touch yourself… and tell me the rest of what happens in your fantasy.” 

Aziraphale felt a rush of nervousness at the idea, but the way Crowley was looking up at him. Not begging, not predatory. _Worshipping._

Aziraphale couldn’t bring himself to maintain Crowley's eye contact- it was too nerve wracking. So he closed his eyes, his hand reaching for his aching cock as he pictured the image, one he’d seen a thousand times in his mind. 

“I… well I guess I'd… like to touch you. Not in any particularly sexual way I just… like the feel of you. I've kept my hands to myself for thousands of years and, well, _dammit_ I just want to run them over every inch of you. Around those slim ankles… pull them behind me so your legs are wrapped around me and… I'd touch your thighs and… oh my dear I should think you're a bit ticklish on your sides, just over the ribcage. I like to feel you shiver at my touch. I like the way you try to cover up the little noises you make when I… keep going back to that… tickling at your sides. Oh how you hate it but you _love_ it all the same and… you bite my chest. Not hard enough to break the skin but there’s… serpent's fangs against my skin and yet there’s also _restraint_ , because you'd hate to hurt me. How you tremble to be so gentle. And of the two of us, _I'm_ the one who should be gentle but I'm not. I need you my dear, I… _shit_ … I… press you back against my desk and… _fuck…_ ” 

“Keep going.” 

“I’d… pull you to meet me and I'd enter you carelessly, too desperate for you and… _God_ I'd fuck you mercilessly… _Crowley…_ ” 

He opened his eyes and found Crowley looking just as desperate as he was. He took the few strides forward quickly and did exactly as he said he would, taking Crowley's ankles in his hands and thrusting them behind him, Crowley's thighs gripping his sides tightly. He glided his hands up his legs, and Crowley visibly jerked when he dragged his fingernails over his ribs. 

“A… angel how did you kn… know?” Crowley stammered, his body convulsing when Aziraphale raked his fingernails lightly back down Crowley's ribcage. 

“Oscar wasn’t the only one whose lovers I invaded when they were making love.” 

“Freddie?!” Crowley choked, eyes wide. Aziraphale smiled, and the arrogance of it made Crowley sit up in front of him and bite his chest, just above his nipple. Aziraphale hissed in a breath, before grabbing Crowley by his upper arms and thrusting him back against the desk and forcing himself inside him. Both cried out from the suddenness of it, but Crowley writhed in ecstasy as Aziraphale began pumping his hips, his hands fanning out over Crowley's chest and pinning him to the desk. 

“Say you love me,” Crowley begged, his hands wrapping around Aziraphale’s wrists where he pinned him down. Aziraphale realized with some shock that Crowley had said the words… but he hadn’t. How long he had loved Crowley, his demon, his best friend? His soul mate? And he had never told him as much. 

“Oh my dear I do. I love you. Adore you. _Revere_ you. All the poetry in the world wouldn’t be enough to… _oh Christ_ … enough to put into words how I love you…” 

His hips pumped hard and fast, and he wrapped his arms around Crowley's back, pulling him down to meet his thrusts with the most euphoric friction. He stopped forming coherent sentences, the pitch of his voice high as he felt Crowley clenching around him. 

“Crowley I… want to… look into your eyes as I… _fuck_ … I’m so… close…” 

Crowley cradled the back of his neck, his slitted eyes piercing straight down Aziraphale’s spine. 

“Come for me,” Crowley whispered, and Aziraphale choked out a noise, his mouth hanging open as his eyelashes fluttered, though he never looked away from Crowley's beautiful eyes. He came explosively, the shock of it wracking his body and making Crowley come only seconds after. Aziraphale collapsed onto Crowley's chest, gasping as he clung to him. 

“Oh my dear. My demon. My everything. I’m so sorry, we should have been doing this all along. How much have I missed by denying you? Denying myself?” 

Crowley panted, unable to speak at first. He got a hold of himself, ruffling his own sweaty hair as he smiled, his eyes closed as he lay basking in ecstasy. “Well you'll just have to spend the next few millennia making it up to me,” he teased, still panting. “ _Fuck_ I don’t know whose fantasy I liked more. I’d be lying if I said I’d never imagined you getting distracted from your bloody books and fucking me right here on your desk.” 

Aziraphale chuckled, kissing Crowley's chest and lifting his head to have one more look at his wonderful eyes. He smiled fondly, pressing a quick kiss to Crowley's nose. 

“Angel… I think you have a fetish for my eyes,” Crowley said with a grin, loving the way Aziraphale blushed and pulled quickly away, willing away their mess and all of his clothes back on, fussing with the lapel of his coat. 

“Oh rubbish, I don’t think it’s a _fetish_ my dear, that’s… perverse, I just…” 

“It was part of your fantasy that you wanted to come inside me while you looked into my eyes. You have a fetish.” 

Aziraphale blushed deeper, and fidgeted nervously as Crowley stood, willing his clothes, and _glasses,_ back into reality. Just as he suspected, Aziraphale squeaked out a protest, then caught himself as he realized he’d played his hand. 

Crowley chuckled as he pulled his glasses away from his eyes, folding them delicately and tucking them away in an interior pocket of his coat. 

“Alright, angel. _Not_ a fetish. If you insist,” he said, approaching his lover and resting his hands on his subtly plump waist. “I won’t wear the glasses. But only when I’m with you. Good?” 

Aziraphale swallowed hard, his eyes flickering away from Crowley's out of embarrassment. “Yes. Good.” 

Crowley smiled genuinely, kissing Aziraphale's lips with such tenderness that Aziraphale nearly swooned. _God_ if he'd known how wonderful intimacy with Crowley could be… he wouldn’t have wasted thousands of years. 

“I’ve got to run to my place. Plants are needy little shits. Ritz later?” he asked, sliding his sunglasses on in the textbook definition of _cool_ , and Aziraphale nearly teared up. The mundane, everyday workings of life just seemed so much sweeter now. He couldn’t place what exactly felt so different, but it did. 

“Oh, yes, my dear. That sounds lovely.”


	2. Chapter 2

Aziraphale felt giddy as he entered the little florist's shop in Soho. After Crowley had left, he felt the need to get him something. A gift, something to show him that he'd been thinking of him even when he was gone. _Especially_ when he was gone. He'd never felt this way before. Of course he'd always loved Crowley, in more ways than he was willing to admit until recently, but… now that he knew him- every inch of him… he'd made the demon _his_ and there was no going back. Not that he’d ever want to. But after having known Crowley for millennia and finally seeing that secret, intimate part of him that had always remained forbidden fruit (pardon the pun)- it made Aziraphale's head swim with pure joy, the likes of which he didn’t think demons were supposed to feel. 

He looked around at the displays of flowers, all lovely, but none of them were even remotely up to Crowley's standards. Aziraphale wrung his hands nervously, feeling foolish all of a sudden. Crowley wouldn’t want flowers. Too sentimental. Not his style. Besides, he was a plant enthusiast, handing him the bloom and stem portion of a plant that could never take root just seemed like handing over a new puppy with its legs cut off. “Oh dear,” he muttered to himself, utterly overwhelmed. 

“You look… lost,” came a voice, and Aziraphale looked up to see a handsome young florist approaching him. The boy had kind eyes and a helpful smile. 

“Well I want to get my… _friend_ something. And I didn’t realize flowers might not be the best idea…” 

“Then I think you might’ve come to the wrong place,” the florist said jokingly, and Aziraphale smiled, though he still had no idea what to get Crowley. Maybe getting him a gift was stupid. Maybe Aziraphale was being stupid. 

“Let me help… what’s your friend like?” 

Aziraphale looked up at the boy, but couldn’t come up with anything to say. Crowley was… well _Crowley._

“He’s… well, he's… gentle. He’d berate me for saying it, but he's a love. He’s smart and cunning, but he doesn’t get up to as much trouble as he’d have you think. I don’t know, he's… nothing like me.” 

The boy considered for a moment, and seemed to understand. 

“Why don’t you think he’d like flowers?” 

“He loves plants. Got a whole slew of them at his flat. I’m out of my element. I was daft to think this was a good idea.” 

“Now hold up. He likes plants you say? Maybe we've got something. What’s his aesthetic?” 

Aziraphale looked at him questioningly, and the boy smiled. “What color palette does he like?” 

“His car’s black. He wears a lot of black. It suits him. He wears his hair dark red, like the color of an old rose. His eyes are… gold like the sun,” Aziraphale swallowed hard, realizing how lost he’d gotten in his description. “Sorry,” he muttered quietly. The boy beamed. 

“It’s fine. Really. Come with me, I think we've got just the thing.” 

The boy led him away from the flower displays and bouquets of roses, toward some potted plants. He disappeared into a back room, and reemerged with a medium sized black pot, setting it down on the counter. Before the boy even said anything, Aziraphale knew it was perfect. 

“This one’s been here for a bit. Nobody seems to want it. Guess it's not... a typical kind of beauty. It’s called a Black Rose succulent. It stays black and red like this most of the time but… in the spring, when it’s happy… it blooms gold, right here in the center.” 

Aziraphale smiled down at the little thing, pinching one of its petals between his fingers and enjoying its strange texture. “I’ll take it.” 

“Now, it is a succulent, so it'll need a lot of sunlight,” the boy warned as he began typing at a cash register. Aziraphale pictured the sunny front window of his shop- Crowley's favorite spot. “I think I know just the place.” 

When he arrived back home, he left the plant on the front counter and began busying himself around the shop. He wasn’t sure when Crowley would be back, but he didn’t want to seem as if he were just waiting around for him. Even though that’s exactly what he wanted to be doing. 

He finally began cataloguing a new Bronte collection he’d left unfinished, and became so engrossed in the work that he lost track of time. He kicked himself for not having hidden the plant when he heard the little bell over the front door ring unexpectedly. He jumped up from his desk and scurried from the back room. 

“Crowley my dear I…” he started to say, but stopped when he found Crowley standing at the counter, staring at the plant. 

“Oh bother. I really had hoped I could surprise you with it. It’s just a little thing,” he began bumbling nervously, ringing his hands as he approached the front desk. 

“I wanted to… well I thought you might… it reminded me of you is all. The young man at the florist said it blooms gold in the center when it’s happy and I… well it… oh dear,” he finally gave up, Crowley's silence sending jitters through him. Was it too much? Was he being childish? Did he seem desperate? Was it too romantic of a gesture, for what they had? What did they have, anyway? 

“You bought me a plant,” Crowley said plainly, and Aziraphale's heart jumped anxiously. He couldn’t read anything from his tone of voice and he'd seen the plant before he removed his glasses. How Aziraphale was dying to see his eyes, just to glimpse some kind of clue as to his emotions. 

“Well I thought… maybe you'd keep it here. So you’d have a reason to… come 'round more often. After you, you know, take care of the other plants at… your place,” Aziraphale realized he sounded like an idiot but he didn’t know how to stop. Crowley sniffed and covered his mouth with his hand, still looking from the plant and back to Aziraphale. “You bought me a plant,” he repeated, and Aziraphale couldn’t tell if he was about to laugh or what. He was in a proper panic. 

Aziraphale didn’t get the chance to follow up, because Crowley suddenly transformed into his snake form, the large creature curling into a ball on the floor at his feet. 

“Uh… Crowley?” 

There was an almost inaudible sigh that sounded like a hiss, before Crowley spoke. 

“Ssssssorry angel. Thissss hasn’t happened in a while.” 

“What’s... happened… exactly?” 

“Thisssss happens when I’m… overwhelmed. When I can’t focussss on my corporation. When I can’t focussss on anything,” Crowley said, coiling himself around his head and hiding his little snake face. 

Aziraphale slowly smiled, watching the muscles along his skinny body twitch as he coiled himself tighter. He thought he had seen Crowley entirely overwhelmed already, but apparently this was worse. He imagined Crowley would be blushing like mad if he were man-shaped at the moment. 

“So you… like it?” Aziraphale said, heart fluttering. 

The serpent was silent for a long time, and Aziraphale couldn’t help but keep staring down at him, his smile starting to hurt his cheeks. 

“Yeah angel. You could ssssay that.” 

Aziraphale beamed, scooping up the plant and carrying it to the sunny front window. “Thanks, little friend,” he whispered to it, and he could have sworn its petals perked up. 

*** 

Will Scarborough walked with his mates through the streets of Soho, joking and laughing, when he caught sight of a bookshop just down the way. He vaguely remembered his Lit professor warning him about this particular bookshop, and how he should avoid it at all costs. Something about outrageous prices and a pretentious shop keep. But Will had a penchant for old books, and wasn’t threatened by a little challenge. His ego tended to solve a lot of problems just by intimidating everyone around him. It couldn’t be that bad, could it? 

“Oi I'll catch up with you at the pub. Just gonna pop in here for a bit,” he said, and his mates started to jest at his weird obsession with literature. “Maybe you lot should try reading a book every once in a while, it’d help offset your ugly faces when you're talkin' to the ladies, yeah?” he shouted as he pushed on the door, the bell above his head chiming pleasantly. 

He screamed like a ninny when he noticed what appeared to be a massive black python on a ledge to his left, basking in the light of the sunset that poured through the dusty glass. 

A blonde man appeared from a back room, carrying an armful of books and seeming entirely unbothered by the shriek that had just echoed through his shop. “Oh hello, young man. Just snuck in before we close. How can I…” 

“You know you’ve got a snake in your window?!” 

The shop keep stared at him through gold rimmed glasses, slowly setting down his books. 

“It’d be alarming if I didn’t, now wouldn’t it?” he said sarcastically, glancing in the direction of the snake, slowly coiling around a potted plant. “That’s just Crowley. He's harmless. Probably.” 

“Don’t you think you should, I dunno, have it in a cage or something?! It’ll scare off customers! Right gave me a heart attack!” 

“Shame,” the man said, deadpan. Something in the way he went nonchalantly about his business told Will that a lack of customers didn't particularly bother this shop keep much. 

"Besides, there isn’t a cage in existence that can hold that serpent. Mostly because he'd just annoy his captor until they released him." 

Will didn't know how, but the way the snake's tongue flicked quickly in and out of its mouth somehow resembled a middle finger. 

“Now then,” the shop keep said, caressing the top of the snake's head before approaching Will. There was a strange red glow coming from behind his reading glasses that sent a chill down his spine. He couldn’t convince himself it was just a reflection of the sunset, seeing as how the man was facing away from the window. 

“What can I help you find?” 

And Will Scarborough decided he didn’t much fancy shopping here, after all.


End file.
